


Renaissance Warrior

by Mikey006



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: 1500s, 16th Century CE, Flashbacks, Head Injury, Historical Accuracy, Italian Wars - Battle of Agnadello, Italian Wars - War of the League of Cambrai, M/M, Memory Loss, Post-Canon, Renaissance Era, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:47:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26238097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikey006/pseuds/Mikey006
Summary: After they say goodbye to Booker, the team takes time to recover after their fight against Merrick.Nile is curious about something. Andy tells her a story.
Relationships: Andromache of Scythia & Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani & Nicky | Nicolo di Genova & Nile Freeman, Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani & Nicky | Nicolò di Genova & Quynh | Noriko, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 7
Kudos: 59





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ok so i got very excited about Nicky getting shot in the head and Joe being Very Upset in that scene, i'm a terrible person i know but hear me out. i also got way too invested in the Italian Wars of the 16th century and i wondered what would happen if Andy, Nicky and Joe were there because they're freaking everywhere throughout history. anyway. no history majors are allowed to yell at me.

Nile dragged her weary, still healing bones out of the grey station wagon. Jumping out of an office building was a decidedly bad idea, in hindsight. Better than the alternative, she thought as she looked over at a worryingly pale Andy climbing from the passenger seat. Much better.

They had left Booker behind, with the hundred year penalty sitting stiffly between them. Nile couldn't help feeling a bit disappointed at the length of time, she had hoped to be able to finally get to know Booker, all of them really, without the looming threat of a money-hungry madman. Still, she understood that the betrayal had to come at a heavy price. She had a hard time imagining what Andy, Nicky and Joe were feeling, considering they had known the guy for literal centuries. 

The safe-house before them looked a little worse for wear, some of the outside plaster was crumbling and there looked to be brown stains of water damage around the door and windows. The old shingle roof had tiny green shoots growing between the tiles. It reminded Nile of the old houses in Chicago her mom would drive past on her way to work, except this one wasn’t brick and there was no busy roads out front. A strained voice snapped her out of her head.

“Could you give me a hand, kid?” Andy was leaning against the car door, the look in her eyes just slightly sheepish as she pressed a hand to her side. It was obviously still sore, seeing as she had taken a bullet not so long ago. Her newfound mortality was probably kicking her ass. Nile was at her side in a few strides, pulling Andy’s arm over her shoulder.

“Not a problem, boss,” Nile gave what she hoped was an encouraging smile to the woman who had once shot her in the head. Andy grinned back, the two slowly making their way to the front door. Nile glanced over her shoulder to Joe and Nicky. They were still at the car, Nicky sitting sideways on the backseat with his head in his hands. Joe was kneeling on the dirt in front of him, half hidden by the open car door. He seemed to be talking to Nicky in another language, Nile assumed Italian by the soft, lilting sounds coming from Joe’s mouth. Joe’s hands made their way from Nicky’s knees to the sides of his elbows, squeezing softly.

“Here, the door,” Andy tapped Nile’s forearm, producing a small bronze key from her jacket pocket. “It sticks a little, hasn’t been used since the 1800s or so.”

“Oh, sorry,” Nile twisted back around to face forward, taking the key from Andy and sliding it into the tiny keyhole underneath the tarnished doorknob. ‘A little’ was an understatement, Nile had to prop Andy against the porch railing to shoulder-check the old wooden door. Finally it squeaked open, the sound of wood scraping together making Nile cringe. Faded blue paint had chipped off onto her sweatshirt. Brushing it away, she helped Andy into the dusty front room. There wasn’t much to it, some cobwebs and old floral print couches that reminded Nile of her grandma. A fireplace made of light coloured stones was built into the far wall, with a very dirty mirror sitting above it in a fancy gold frame.

Nile helped Andy sit down on one of the couches, a tiny cloud of dust shooting into the air as she flopped down tiredly. Nile looked to join her as Joe and Nicky entered the house behind them. Joe had an arm around Nicky’s waist, still speaking lowly to him in Italian. He sent Nicky up the creaking stairs to the second floor with a soft but firm hand between his shoulder blades. Joe then turned to the tiny kitchen situated parallel to Andy and Nile’s couch. He stopped at the used-to-be-cream-coloured cupboards, pulling out two glasses. The tap needed to run a few seconds before the water came out clear. Joe seemed undeterred by the slightly silty liquid, filling the cups and moving upstairs to join Nicky in what Nile assumed to be a bedroom. The water quality only concerned her a little bit. They were immortal after all, dysentery could only do so much.

At her side, Andy seemed to let out a sign, sagging into the couch a little. Nile looked over at her, confused.

“What’s up?” She hadn’t realized there was something weighing on Andy, it had been over a week since they had anything to really worry about. Merrick was gone, Copley was covering their tracks. This was supposed to be a time to relax, at least before they set off to find another crazy job only an immortal could do.

“Nothing, it’s alright,” Andy replied. “Joe’s got it covered.”

Nile blinked, confused. “Do you mean Nicky? Shouldn’t everything have healed?” She paused. “He’s okay… right?” Andy met her puzzled gaze with a sad smile.

“He will be. Sometimes it just takes a little longer,” she looked down at the dust-covered floor, as if recalling something that had happened lifetimes ago. In Andy’s case, that was probably true. “Head injuries are tricky like that. Yes, we heal physically, but our minds are still delicate things. When they get damaged, we can lose our memories. Not permanently, but if no one is around to help it can take a while for them to come back.”

Nile sat back in stunned silence. “I didn’t know,” she breathed quietly. “That’s why Joe looks so stressed out.” Andy nodded.

“It was a while ago, but it’s happened before. Nicky has more trouble coming back than Joe or I. Not sure why,” she huffed a little laugh “maybe he just gets hit in the head more.” Nile glanced up at the ceiling at that, hoping Joe couldn’t hear them through the thin floorboards. He definitely wouldn’t appreciate that comment.

“Nicky’s still a little hazy on it, probably a good thing,” Andy continued “but Joe will never forget. Those were the longest eight years of his life.”

Nile gaped. “Eight years?! I thought you were talking hours, maybe days! What the hell happened?” 

Andy’s gaze darkened. The look in her eyes grew far away, like the stained boards under their feet had stabbed her in the back and she was plotting quiet revenge. Nile was familiar with it.

“I guess it could be important for you to hear, it was a reminder for us at the time,” Andy exhaled, closing her eyes. Her expression solidified into an ancient resolve. “It doesn’t apply to me anymore, but you need to understand; just because we can’t die, we aren’t invincible. Dying still hurts us and those close to us. Years are just as long, immortal or not.”

Nile stared at her, the edge of the couch cushion squished into the frame beneath her. 

“We were in Italy. 1507 or so,” Andy opened her eyes. 

“It was like hell had come up from under the earth to swallow us whole.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh baby, and this is just the intro y'all better gear up. its gonna Reduce in Quality. i am going to try my very hardest to finish this fic, but classes are starting soon and i am Stressed. but i'm invested, hold me to it. lots of (semi-accurate) italian history to come!
> 
> comments pay my electrical bills


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> might add some tags or change the rating later on, we’ll see how good i am at describing fight scenes. for now take some angst. My Quynh timeline might be off by a few centuries but u get the gist

There had been other times. Joe once spent the better part of an afternoon cluelessly wandering around 12th century Inderøy, Norway, and they had lost Andy for three days in feudal Japan. But they were always there to pull each other together, to remind each other, to bring each other back.

This time was different. 

———

**Outside Bergamo, Italy**

**1509**

A brutal, painful war hung in the air around them, lingered in the mist as they trudged through the small towns peppered around the countryside of northern Italy. Andromache had initially suggested coming to Italy for a much needed rest after a long few centuries. Losing Quynh was still fresh in their hearts. However, soon after arriving, the pitiful and damaged state the conflicts of Italy had left the insignificant villages in was more than any of them could ignore. 

Nicolò had insisted on helping out, doing small jobs for the villagers. Bandit activity was on the rise as resources dwindled in the surrounding communities, mostly locals getting desperate. Occasionally, they would stumble upon more organized movement. Soldiers would grow weary of fighting and desert their companies, turning to petty crime to get by. That was how Andromache, Yusuf and Nicolò found themselves in their current situation.

It had started as a simple job, an elderly Italian woman in a damp, dingy town pleading for them to remove a group of bandits who were robbing and terrorizing the residents. Of course, Nicolò hadn’t allowed them to refuse the request. The wars in Italy were taking a toll on him especially, seeing his home country so ravaged and plagued with violence. He would often spend their cold nights staring out the windows of whichever semi-sturdy structure they found themselves in along the road. His face held a look of restless anxiety, like he was wishing on the scattered stars for the fighting to end and release his homeland from her suffering. Yusuf would often wake in the small hours of the morning to lay a warm hand on Nicolò’s back and whisper in his ear,

_“Il giorno che si infrange non è bello neanche la metà di te, il mio cuore, né il paese su cui si rompe. Questa tempesta passerà.”_

_The breaking day is not half as beautiful as you, my heart, nor the country over which she breaks. This storm will pass._

They hadn’t expected to be backed into a corner by the bandits, much less injured. When they began their initial assault, Andromache and Yusuf had gone first into the rickety, one-room shack sat on the edge of a cliff outside of town. Nicolò kept watch from the outside. Soldiers who deserted their posts usually kept to the outskirts of villages, that way there was little chance of discovery by the armies travelling through. 

Immediately after entering, her heavy boots making quick work of the damp wooden door, Andromache realized that something was off. There were at least twelve startled bandits in the run-down building. Too many to be any sort of disorganized group of looters like the ones they had previously encountered along their travels. Three immediately sprang towards her, brandishing daggers. Andromache managed to block one blade with her forearm and a grunt of pain, but the other two made their way into her lower stomach and chest. Behind her, Yusuf gave a shout and charged shoulder-first into the side of one of the men. A musket lay idle against the wall, but was soon grabbed by a fourth bandit, who raised it to Andromache’s head with a sneer. 

A shot rang out, but it came from beyond the doorway where Nicolò had his own musket raised and smoking, its lead ball firmly planted between the eyes of the fourth bandit. This act roused the rest of the ex-soldiers from their seats, some of them producing daggers, one a heavy club made of oak.

A swift kick to the chest sent Yusuf flying back out the way he had come, landing heavily on the moss-covered rocks. There was a sickening crack as he hit the hard stone, probably the sound of a few vertebrae breaking with the force. The remaining bandits surged through the doorway, pushing Andromache in front of them like a raging tide. She landed hard on her knees beside Yusuf, whipping her head around to stare furiously at the men looming over her. If looks could kill, those men would have been lit aflame. 

Nicolò didn’t have the chance to heft his sword before they were upon him. A meaty fist to his jaw and a blade between his ribs brought him to the ground, hard. He reached for the barrel of his musket, managing to crack one of his assailants across the face with its handle before being shoved face-first into the wet dirt. A nasally voice hissed in his ear,

_“Ti stenderai per terra come un cane.”_

_You will lie on the ground like a dog._

Nicolò tried to wrench himself free of the bandits grasp, but only succeeded in having his arms twisted behind his back, shoulders nearly giving out at the sudden, brutal strain. He huffed a pained breath. Yusuf, a few feet away, was writhing underneath the grip of three surprisingly well-built defectors. His back healed, his mouth hurling the foulest of curses at the bandits holding Nicolò. Andromache was suspiciously silent under the vigilant gaze of the two bandits bracketing her, one free hand slowly rising towards the dagger still buried in her chest.

The next few seconds seemed to occur in slow motion. 

The large bandit who was previously struck by the handle of Nicolò’s rifle was now sporting a nasty gash along the side of his face. His eyes blazed as he stalked angrily towards Nicolò, yanking him off the ground by his upper arm and into the air. Nicolò’s legs flailed wildly as he tried to free himself, to no avail. A repulsive grin spread across the bandit’s face as his fist tightened around Nicolò’s arm, and subsequently his musket that the bandit now clutched eagerly. The edge of the steep cliff now stood not two feet in front of them, the sounds of a river churning in the pass below echoing up to where they stood.

Yusuf’s eyes nearly came out of his skull as the large bandit slowly raised the musket to the side of Nicolò’s head. He nearly ripped his arms out of their sockets trying to get away from the men holding him, but they held fast. Yusuf refused to think of where they got this particular strength. A heavy blow from the oak club landed between his shoulder blades and he lost his breath.

Andromache had just about gripped the end of the dagger when the large bandit squeezed the trigger.

The sound ripped through Yusuf’s ears, a horrible bang that would forever reverberate through his mind. 

Nicolò’s eyes widened, and then clouded over, his jaw falling open into a weak gasp. His captor started to laugh, and released him. 

Nicolò’s body was sent plunging through the air, down the side of the cliff and into the seething river below.

Yusuf’s screams echoed against the rocks, harmonizing with the sounds of the current sweeping his love away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am SO SORRY for any Italian speakers who had to read that google-translated nonsense, i was trying to make it pretty. google only has one Italian setting so i did the best i could. it’s day one of classes and i already regret taking more than one arts course but i needed electives so. take pity on me
> 
> comments water my plants while i'm away


End file.
